Categories > Celebrities > Green Day > Time Of Your Life

Billie Joe is not a Freak

by BilliesLilBasketCase 0 reviews

Category: Green Day - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Angst,Drama,Romance - Published: 2012-03-30 - Updated: 2012-03-30 - 806 words

It's been three weeks since the rape. My black eye is gone and the bruises on my arms have turned a yellow/green color which means they’ll soon be gone. The cuts on my legs and sides are healing really well but I’ll have thin pink scars where they where; small price to pay.

Today is Friday, I’ve not talked to Billie since Monday, it feels like ages. I pick up my phone and dial his number which is embedded in my mind.

"Hello Mia," Billie greets me, picking up on the first ring.

"Hey, what's up?" I ask.

"Mmm, nothing really; just got done rehearsing this song with the guys. I’m home now.”

"Hey. I was thinking about doing something," I say, looking up at Billie’s window.

"Like what?"

"Okay, if I threw a rock through you’re window right now would it hit you?”

“What the fuck kind of question is that, Mia?”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

With that I chuck the small rock I had held in my hand up towards Billie’s window, somehow it manages to make it in. A few seconds later a blue haired Billie sticks his middle finger out the window, “I hate you Mia.”

“Love you too, Billie Joe!” I yell, holding back my laughter.

“I’m going to hang up on you,” Billie says, appearing at his front door.

I shut my cell phone, “Sounds good.”

Billie smiles, “You just can’t stay away can you?”

“You’ve got the drugs and I’ve got the addiction and today I need someone to come take a walk on the beach with me,” I answer still standing in Billie’s front yard.

This is just a little awkward.

"So we're going to the beach?" questions Billie walking over to me, linking his arm with mine.

"That was kind of my plan," I reply, glancing sideways at him.

"You shouldn't be walking around by yourself especially after what happened," Billie says trying to look like a stern parent figure; he just goes cross eyed.

"I know. I'm sorry!" I say with a laugh.

"Whatever," Billie says as we cross yet another street. I don’t even remember starting to walk.

I stop and turn to him, needing to say what I was going to back in the hospital, “Billie, I love your hands –” I spit out. Not exactly what I wanted to say – “I also love you're hair; I like it blue. Then there’s you're eyes; they’re like…perfect.”

That came out completely wrong.

Billie smiles, wrapping an arm around my waist as I rest my head on his shoulder, “Thanks, Mia.”

We continue to walk, passing by some old people.

"Oh young love,” the old lady sighs, looking lovingly up at her husband.

Billie and I start to laugh, if only we had a dollar for every time we’ve heard something like that. We’d both be very rich.

For the rest of our walk to the beach Billie is quiet. I wonder what goes on in his head. I’d ask but I think I’m a little too afraid of what would come out of his mouth.

We walk down the beach for a while, picking up star fish and throwing them back into the salty water. I don’t think they actually survive but I feel better to know that at least they’ll have died someplace where they where once happy.

Around one Billie walks me home promising that he’ll call me tomorrow. We’ll see just how high he gets between then and now. If he doesn’t call me, I’ll call him.

Next Day

I wake up around eight. I’ll let Billie sleep for a bit. Poor kid probably needs about thirty hours to make up for how many nights I kept him up in the hospital.

I take a shower, get dressed then go upstairs to eat; I live in the basement.

Grabbing the last box of cereal we have in the cabinet I pour it into a clean looking bowl, eating it dry. We’ve not had milk in the house since last month. I should probably go to the store but I don’t feel like it; maybe tomorrow.

"When did you get home?” asks my brother.

"Mmm... around one yesterday afternoon," I reply.

“Who where you with?”

“Billie Joe,” I answer confused as to why my normally non-caring older brother is asking all these questions.

“That Armstrong kid, dudes a freak, Maria.”

“Billie Joe is not a freak,” I reply before getting up and walking out of the house. I’m not in the mood for my brother to tell me all the things he thinks are wrong with the guy I like.
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